Many Happy Returns
by RedDevilGirl
Summary: My first post on this site so hope you enjoy my somewhat fluffy fic! I'm a bit of an angst/limp!sam addict so please forgive me...! Sam Winchester was the last person the Moore family expected to see today...


Angela gazed up into the sky as she pegged the wet laundry to the line. With a sigh she noticed that it was clear blue. Too blue for today.

Today was one of those days when it just felt like the world had stopped spinning. Like coming out of a darkened room to find that it was blazing sunlight and nobody else could possibly comprehend was going on behind the door. In the dark.

It's not true what they say. The last two years hadn't got easier. They had just, passed. Slowly. And she was going to struggle with today. Two years since her daughter was taken from her. Two years without her. In those two years, she should have seen her daughter graduate, get her first job, perhaps even get engaged. She had thought the world of her college boyfriend. Her friends had told her that she would have married him, no question. A strange, quiet boy, he'd taken off shortly after the accident and hadn't kept in touch. Angela suddenly realised that she didn't know where he went to, that he had always been quiet about his family. She assumed that he went home – but where was that? They hadn't known him so well, but Angela couldn't help feel a pang of sadness for the boy who clearly loved her daughter.

She began to pull a clean bedsheet from the laundry basket and gazed around the back yard. So many of Jessica's birthdays had been spent here, with cakes, and games and gaggles of little girls running around having the time of their lives. As the girls had got older, they'd had birthday barbeques and the guest list slowly changed, to be less focused on their family and more on the girls' friends, and Angela and her husband had watched through the years as their daughters' guest lists became their own friends rather than hers and Tom's, and giggled as they started to awkwardly include boys to their birthday celebrations. Angela found herself smiling at the memory but was suddenly shaken from her daydream by a nudge on her arm.

"Hey Mom". Her youngest daughter (her only daughter, she thought bitterly), Carrie, walked around her to the rotary dryer. "How long you been up? Need a hand?"

"Yeah, well, I thought it would be a long day. Wanted to get the laundry out and finished before everyone arrives". Angela didn't look at Carrie and concentrated all her energy on untangling the white bedsheet. She couldn't look away, fearing that her eyes would betray her and reveal that she was nervous, hell, terrified about having to face today. She felt like she hadn't slept at all. Carrie gazed intently at her Mom, scanning every inch of her face, searching for a hint of a reaction. Carrie smiled, her eyes sparkled. The party – was that the right word? - had been her idea and she was looking forward to it as much as when her sister was….. home. Carrie took the other end of the bedsheet that Angela had been absent-mindedly unfolding and began to chatter.

"Aunty May called to say she's coming over at about two, and bringing the twins. Dad said to tell you that he'll mow the lawn after breakfast…….." Carrie's voice trailed off and her smile faded. She dropped her hands and looked straight at her mother, realising that she wasn't dealing with Jessica's birthday in the way that she'd hoped. Carrie wanted to give her something to celebrate, a purpose to the day, and had thought a family dinner in her sister's honour would give her that. Instead, the deep, dark hole, burned into her mother by the fire was more evident than ever. Carrie spoke softly.

"Today is alright, isn't it, Mom?" She furrowed her eyebrows slightly and her shoulders stooped slightly as she gazed in hope at her Mom. "Today, I'm sorry if I've made it something it shouldn't be. I just wanted it to be, something for the family, something for Jess, you know?" A single tear dropped onto her cheek and she hastily brushed it away. Today was not about tears. Today was Jessica's 23rd birthday.

Angela watched her daughter wipe away the tell-tale tear. Of course it is, she thought. I've got to get my head around this. It wasn't what she wanted to do, or what she would have planned, but the family were going to be there to pay tribute to her daughter. To her beautiful Jessica. She put down the other end of the bedsheet and put an arm around Carrie. "Of course it is," she said as comfortingly as she could manage. "Today's about your sister." And, she added silently, whatever we do today is going to be hell. We may as well all be there together.

Carrie looked over the back yard. The sun was setting, dinner was finished and it could have been the end of a perfect day. Another birthday for the Moore girls. Her Mom and Dad had spent what she now considered to be a painful afternoon with their friends and family, and in all honesty, Jessica hadn't been the subject on everyone's lips. Nobody knew what to say about her, although they'd all loved her. She was so much fun, so clever, so kind and loving. Everyone who had talked to her about Jessica commented on that, but she couldn't help but think that it was so easy to say those things, so easy to make the flippant comments. A few of her friends had congregated during the afternoon to give her support, but she'd tactfully asked them to leave, under the pretence that she was okay. They had known Jess purely as Carrie's big sister, and the comments about how beautiful and kind she had been just washed over her like they didn't even touch her. Sure, Jess was beautiful. She was kind. But she felt that nobody appreciated _how_ beautiful, _how_ kind. She was the best big sister you could get, because she was Carrie's big sister. She wasn't perfect, they had some huge fights over their teenage years, but the sparring was a part of the growing up. She would give anything for one more row over her sister's CDs or hair dryer. She was so much fun. And she wasn't an angel, by any means. The number of shouting matches she'd had with their parents, and the number of times she'd crashed the car……. Carrie sniffed with a small giggle as she thought of how useless her sister's driving had been. And all the times she'd needed her, as a sister. To tell her that David Branstein wasn't worth her tears. To cover for her for staying out later than her curfew. To help her pick out an outfit for a Saturday night out. She looked up and sighed. "God, I miss you Jess………"

Carrie's memories were disturbed by the distant sound of the doorbell. She frowned; it was after nine and everyone they had expected that day had been and gone. Still, the sound of the bell meant her heart skipped a beat slightly. She didn't know why. Apprehensively, she slipped back through the patio doors to watch her Mom, with a similar furrow on her brow, reaching tentatively for the door handle. Angela weighed up the shadow outside, and a small shiver that she couldn't quite account for ran down her spine. She inhaled deeply as she opened the door.

A tall, shaggy haired young man stood in front of her, his hands dug deep in his jeans pockets, dressed in worn boots and a checked workshirt. His broad shoulders looked heavy, and as her brown eyes met his, Angela's heart skipped.

"Sam?"

--RDG--RDG--RDG--

Sam nervously gazed at Angela, knowing that if he took his hands out of his pockets, they would be shaking. He hadn't been able to come back here, not since the fire, not since Jess's funeral. He had it all planned out, what he was going to say, what he was going to do, and he froze. Jess's Mom was standing in front of him, looking tired, and he suddenly knew that this had been the wrong thing to do, knew that it was a huge mistake and that him being there was just going to hurt them. He knew that they thought it was his fault, knew he'd judged this wrong and….. he swallowed hard as Angela reached up and embraced his huge body as best she could. Sam closed his eyes, knowing his shoulders were trembling and willing them silently to stop. He inhaled deeply as he hugged Angela back, getting his emotions just about under control. She let his shoulders go and held him back at arms length, taking in every bit of Sam.

Sam's face looked far more serious than the last time Angela had seen him, no, well, not the _last_ time. The last time had been at Jess's funeral. Sam's shoulders looked heavy, and his eyes, like her own, were red-rimmed. She placed a hand on each of Sam's arms and leant back watching as the young man struggled to keep his emotions in check.

Sam gave a small, uncontrollable laugh as Angela released him from her embrace, partly from the relief that the door hadn't been slammed shut in his face. After so many thoughts that Jess's family must hate him, that he was the reason their daughter was dead he was sure that would have been the Moore's reaction. He swept his hand over his face and gave an awkward, closed-mouth smile. His nervous hands were still trembling; he couldn't help but think that was ridiculous. He could fight a poltergeist, ram an iron bar through a spirit, but not face his girlfriend's parents. _His dead girlfriend's parents._ His jaw twitched. "I……. I wasn't sure…..I wasn't sure I should come."

"Sam." Angela's hands dropped from Sam's side, and her voice trailed off. Sam's shoulders stiffened once again as he noticed Tom, Jessica's father, had joined them in the hallway. His heart, which had been slowing slightly, picked up pumping with full force, so much so that Sam feared it must be visible through his crumpled workshirt.

"Tom!" Sam suddenly panicked. Maybe he should have said Mr Moore, what do you call your never-to-be Father in Law after not being in contact with him for 2 years? Sam's voice wavered, unsure what to say next. Tom looked just as he'd remembered him, a little greyer around the edges, almost as tall as Sam and with an athletic build even in his fifties. Tom gave Sam a small, tired smile and took hold of his never-to-be Son in Law by the shoulders.

"It's good to see you, Sam," he said in a husky voice. He felt the trembling in the boy's shoulders and looked down at his wife. The kid was terrified. He gave him a wide, but tired, smile. It _was_ good to see him. Jessica had arrived home for Christmas with Sam in tow about three and a half years ago. She'd never brought anyone home with her before, and quiet, polite Sam had been her guest for Christmas. He'd visited a few times since, during the holidays, and seemed to revel in spending time at the Moore's home, helping Tom in the garden, mowing lawns, watching sports and was a thousand miles away from the arguments Jessica had had with her parents over 'unsuitable boys' in her teens. Silently, however, Tom felt like he had been hit with a brick. He didn't want to talk through what had happened that night, didn't want to suddenly know what happened, didn't want to know why Sam had gotten out of the apartment and his daughter didn't. But more importantly, he didn't want his wife to go through that. Not today. Carrie had wanted to celebrate and that was hard enough. He let his hands drop from Sam's shoulders and silently ushered him through to the living room.

Breathing slowly, Sam allowed Tom to sit him down on the comfortable sofa, and couldn't help but notice the awkward feel to the room. The family photographs that littered the room tore at him more than he was prepared for; Jessica and Carrie in their school uniforms, young Jessica, maybe eleven or twelve, riding a horse, the whole family in front of the Christmas tree, sometime in the early 90's judging by the dubious clothing. Suddenly Sam felt a deeper loss; not just the Jessica he knew, the one who could drink hideous amounts of tequila and still get up for class the next morning, but felt for the loss of _their_ Jessica, whose first steps had probably been taken in this very house, who used to kick off her shoes after school in this living room and watch kids tv….. all gone because of the dangerous lifestyle that had finally tracked Sam down. Somewhere in the middle of Sam's thoughts, it seemed that Tom had offered him a beer and he seemed to have accepted as Tom handed him an icy cold bottle. He looked up to thank him, and was suddenly stopped by a figure standing at the patio doors. Sam did a double take, holding his breath. Just for a moment, he could have sworn it was-

"Carrie?" Sam stood up, his voice a little awe struck. He'd forgotten how similar her blonde curls and blue eyes were to his beautiful girlfriend's; he suddenly realised he didn't know what he was going to do once he stood up. A little shorter and a little, curvier, than Jessica, Carrie had grown into a beautiful young woman over the last two years; when he'd last seen her she'd been only seventeen. He faltered slightly, the urge to caress her long blonde hair taking him by surprise; he knew it was entirely inappropriate. Their eyes met for a split second and he glanced away; his awkwardness not caused by them being too like Jessica's, but that the hurt there was too similar to his.

"I didn't think you'd come", Carrie's voice cracked. She stuck her chin into the air slightly with an air of determination that was Jessica all over. She wasn't going to lose it now. A week earlier, she'd hovered her mouse over the send button for about 15 minutes before clicking send to 'lawboystanford'. She hadn't even known if Sam still used the e-mail address that she'd found on Jessica's old computer. Meeting his tired eyes that had clearly shed a few tears during the day, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the neck of the older boy, feeling him instantly relax at the contact.

"I didn't think I would", Sam whispered into Carrie's ear before he dropped the embrace, exhaling deeply as he looked at Jessica's little sister. "You grew up all of a sudden Carrie!" He managed to flash her a smile.

"Not all of a sudden, it's been a few years!" Carrie swiped at a small runaway tear and returned Sam's smile.

Sam's awkwardness threatened to return. He felt that he owed the family an explanation. Although how could he explain that Jessica was dead by the time he got there, that her body was on the ceiling and that he'd been killed by the same thing that took his mother 22 years before? How could he tell them that he was going to avenge her death if it was the last thing he did and despite how it looked, he didn't just take off as if it had never happened. He turned back to Tom, to Angela and took his seat back on the sofa. Carrie took a place at the other end and tucked her legs underneath her. Sam leaned forward and took a nervous swig of his beer. Looking back up, his eyes partly shielded by his long bangs, he met Tom's eye. "About those few years……"

"You don't have to explain to us, Sam." Carrie shot her Dad a look that Sam perceived as a warning glance.

"No, Carrie, I do." He shifted a little in his seat. He still wore his jacket, the impression being created that he didn't intend to stay beyond the one beer. "I'm - I'm sorry I took off. After the funeral and before -" He licked his lips nervously. "Before the fire. I should have been there. If I'd never left that weekend…..". He looked up at Tom and Angela, who seemed to be searching for something to say, but hadn't quite managed to voice it. "… If I'd never left, I'd have stopped it. Somehow." Sam dropped his eyes down to the floor. "I miss her every day, you know. I really do."

Angela looked at the, dare she say it, somewhat scruffy, oversized boy sitting in the corner of her living room. He didn't just look older, but more, she couldn't think of a better word, _hardened_ than the last time they met. Hardened but still hurting. And she understood. He needed to hear that they didn't blame him for her daughter's death. If she was honest, she had. Directly after the fire, she'd ranted, raved, screamed and wanted to know every detail, every aspect of her daughter's day leading up to the fire. Electrical fault, they'd said. So why did Sam get out, why was he pulled from the bedroom with nothing but a cough and there was nothing left of her daughter? And where had he been? Who had he been with? Suddenly taken off for the weekend with a brother who didn't even get in touch at holidays? Sam leaving Palo Alto the week after Jessica's death had made it easier to blame the boy, to forget the holidays he'd spent with them, to forget the way he'd, shyly at first, become a part of the family. For eighteen months at least, they'd barely seen Jess without Sam at her side. Now looking at him, she realised that he'd been a scapegoat. She reached out to touch his hand, noticing that he flinched slightly at the contact. "We miss her too, Sam".

It was Tom who broke the moment up. "So, what have you been up to since we last saw you Sam? Please say you've taken a place at a law school?" He raised his eyebrows in a fatherly manner. The boy was smart, he knew that.

Sam smiled. What had he been up to? Hunting down the yellow-eyed bastard that killed your daughter…..hiding from the feds…… performing exorcisms, killing zombies…… crashing cars….. hunting vampires…….. mourning my Dad. Or not. "Ah…. We've been busy". He looked up, conscious that he needed to clarify 'we'. "Me and my brother. I kinda stuck with him for a bit, we've been on a road trip". He dropped his head down again. "We lost our Dad."

Why why why did I tell them that? That's not what I came here for, not to get them to think poor Sam, been through a lot. Don't want the sympathy vote. Hell, they probably think it's a good thing, I kinda didn't paint Dad in such a positive light to the Moores. He sensed Angela and Tom share a look and Carrie's blue eyes bore into him.

"I'm sorry Sam," she said. "Been a tough couple of years for you I suppose". For us all, she added silently. She looked round at her mother. "Hey, Mom, I was going to get out the old photographs, that's okay isn't it?" She flashed her Mom a pleading look.

Angela sighed, a little louder than she meant to. She didn't want to make Sam feel unwelcome, she really didn't, but the day was taking its toll and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and put back up her defensive walls; to pretend that today wasn't happening. She opened her mouth to reply to Carrie, but didn't really know what to say. Carrie sensed her mother's uncertainty and in an aim to recover slightly, she turned to Sam.

"Hey, Sam…. There're a few photos still in Jessica's room that I think you might like to see. Do you wanna come up?" She looked at him with pleading eyes, knowing that Jess' bedroom wall photo montage of her college friends would interest him. Eager to get out of the awkward situation, he nodded and accepted the younger girl's invitation.

Climbing the stairs behind Carrie, Sam felt his heart beat just a little faster. He wasn't sure he'd be okay with walking into Jess' bedroom again. Everything that had been _their_ bedroom had been destroyed in the fire. He closed his eyes as he walked through the door and swallowed hard, knowing that this was going to be difficult.

"Sorry Sam," Carrie's voice cut through his preparation. He opened his eyes and looked down at her. "I just thought it was a bit, weird, down there and thought you might wanna, you know……"

"Spend a little time with Jess?" He raised his eyebrows, glad he was doing okay so far.

"I suppose." Carrie looked around. "I like to. Just, you know, sit here with her a bit. Is that weird?" She scrunched up her face a little, unsure whether Sam would understand.

Sam did understand, more than Carrie would ever know. "Nah Carrie, not weird. In fact, I kinda wish I'd been back here earlier." He gazed around the room. The pinboard full of photos of their college friends was still there. In fact, most of Jess's things were still here, although the room was uncharacteristically tidy, ready for her to return home for her next holidays. Which never happened. Sam couldn't help but smile at photos of him, some guys from his course surrounding each other with glasses of some dubious looking green cocktail held in front of them. "I remember that night," he mused, not looking away from the photo montage. "Remember being so ill the next morning from that green crap!"

Carrie laughed softly behind him.

"I forgot she used to do things like this, y'know, collect photos and stuff." He turned around slowly and sat down on the bed. A familiar, soft squeak brought back a painful memory as he remembered Jess trying to convince him her parents would never know if he snuck in from the guest room. And remembered the giggles when she tried to stow his 6'4 frame under the covers when seventeen year old Carrie had walked in one morning. He smiled at her. "Thanks for not ratting on us Carrie."

Carrie laughed. "You thought I didn't know what you were up to…."

Sam laughed back. "Yeah. We thought your parents didn't know either. Suppose as you get older you kinda realise that your parents were young once too."

"Nah, not mine!" Carrie noticed that once again, Sam had dropped his head to face away from her. Speaking more softly, she remembered what he had said to her downstairs. "I'm sorry about your Dad, Sam. What happened?"

Sam kept his head down, seemingly looking at something on Jess's dressing table, although Carrie suspected he was just averting his eyes.

"You don't have to tell me, I'm sorry."

"No - no, it's okay. There was a car crash. I was driving. Dean and Dad, they, they were both hurt. We…. We thought he was okay. It was a few days later. One minute he was there, talking to us, the next….." Sam's voice trailed off and he scrubbed a hand over his face as he looked back up. "But, we're fine." He took a deep breath and scanned around the room. He felt a lump rising in his throat and wasn't sure he could keep it at bay again. Carrie sensed his discomfort.

"Do… do you want me to give you a minute in here?" She asked quietly.

Sam nodded, unable to speak to her any more. She stalled as he grasped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, looking like he had the mother of all headaches. She recognised the headache; she'd felt it herself, a physical manifestation of grief bearing down on her. She slipped out of the room. Sam didn't need her to see this.

--RDG--RDG--RDG--

Dean looked up and down the leafy street. He knew his brother was here somewhere. About 4 hours ago he'd borrowed the car, said he wanted to go to the library. Dean feigned disinterest; he knew that something was up with Sam and knew that they were in close proximity to his college friends. So, when 2 hours ago Sam hadn't turned up, Dean got bored with waiting for him to bring back his baby and thought maybe it was time to find out what was going on. He had a homing instinct when it came to his car (yeah right, nothing to do with his over protective streak and he and his younger brother belonging together like burger and fries) and finally finding the Impala parked in a middle-class suburban street, he started knocking on doors.

Ready to spin the same story as he had at the three doors closest to the Impala's parking space, Dean dug both hands in his pockets in an attempt to look a little sheepish, and as the door creaked open, he began his tale.

"I'm awful sorry ma'am, but, you don't happen to know who owns that big black Chevvy over there do ya?" He gesticulated back over to his car, parked a few spots down the street. As he spoke, he suddenly realised that he'd met this lady somewhere before. Nonetheless, he carried on, putting his hands back into his pockets and flashing her a sheepish grin. "Fraid I cut the corner a little quickly and did the old girl some damage… I'm real sorry." Where from, why did he know her? She craned her neck slightly to look at the car.

"I'm not sure honey, my daughter does have a friend around….." Dean noticed her voice crack slightly at the mention of her daughter. "It could be his… let me check."

As she stepped back away from the door, Dean knew that this was where he'd find his brother; some chick from college he assumed. But why would he recognise her Mom? She was a smart looking lady, mid fifties or so… had they come across her in a hunt or something? He frowned slightly, and as he looked back into the house, he noticed a younger girl behind him. His breath was taken away slightly at the sight of her blonde curls. Suddenly he knew where he knew her from. Jessica. Well, not Jessica. But so similar. Dean took a deep breath just as the young girl gave him a small smile.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at him, a slight recognition there too. She'd seen this man somewhere before. "I'm not sure… my friend, I don't know what he's driving."

"Could you find out?" Dean almost stepped back a little. "What's your friend's name?" he asked softly, his shoulders still stiffened.

"Why?" Carries eyes narrowed. For some reason, she wasn't sure she should tell him. There was something about Sam Winchester that made her think that he had secrets. But looking into the man's green eyes, she saw something softer there, no hint of aggression and a flash of concern. "You're looking for Sam, aren't you?" She raised her eyebrows. "I knew we'd met." Suddenly it dawned on her. This was the mysterious guy who had loitered in the background after the fire, trying not to be a part of Jess's friends but clearly hurting because he'd not known how to help his little brother. "It's Dean, isn't it?"

"In the flesh." Dean gave an awkward grin, silently kicking himself for not being able to resist making a joke. Neighbourhoods like this gave him the creeps. "Is he here?"

Carrie stepped back and motioned for Dean to come in. "Yeah…. He's here. I left him in Jess's room." She sighed and bit her bottom lip in a way that Dean thought would have been just adorable had he met this girl in a bar. "And I'm not sure that he's okay."

Oh God. Dean's heart began to pound. He didn't want Sammy to be upset, really he didn't, but similarly he didn't want to have to deal with it. Injured Sammy was infinitely easier to deal with; he knew what to do. Wrapping broken ribs, stopping bleeding, putting in stitches and everything healed eventually. It was the other _stuff_ that didn't. He knew Sam hadn't dealt with Jess's death. He'd thrown himself into the hunt, and Dean had let that happen. And now, he needed someone to go to him. He knew that someone had to be him. But he also knew that it wasn't going to be easy. He looked at Carrie.

"Should….d'you think I should go up?" He hoped that she was going to say no, to say that she'd go check on him. He knew Sam wouldn't want that. He knew he had to go. Without another word, he started to ascend the stairs.

Second on the right, Carrie had said. Damnit Dean, he chastised himself. He could burst into a room knowing he would be faced with a vampire, a ghost, a god-damn shapeshifter. What's your problem? He took a deep breath and knocked quietly on the door.

"Sam?" He called quietly. No answer. "Sammy?" Dean pressed his ear to the door. He wasn't sure what he could hear. "Sam, it's only me, Carrie told me to come up. Man, you'd best be decent, I'm coming in." Damn damn damn, joking again Dean!! He winced at his stupid sense of humour and as the door handle gave a small squeak, he stepped into the bedroom.

Everything was so….. Jess. She hit Dean like a hurricane, her music, her posters, her photographs. By the side of the bed was a photograph that Dean had never seen before of Jess with a carefree young man wrapping her in his strong arms as they both laughed. A young man who Dean used to know and hadn't seen for a long time. His eyes snapped to his younger brother, sitting on the bed wiping at his eyes and trying to look like he wasn't a mess. Which he was.

Sam messily wiped his nose on his sleeve in a panic; what was Dean doing here? His chest still hitched slightly as he hiccupped and scrubbed at his face, trying to desperately hide any evidence of his breakdown and thinking, Dean wouldn't drop his game face, I've at least got to try and wear mine. He drew in a shaky breath and looked up towards his brother. "Hey, Dean." He looked down towards his feet with an almost guilty look on his face. "Guess you're mad I didn't bring the car back?"

"Mad? Mad doesn't touch it. Do you know I had to make up some lame story to say that I'd hit the Impala? I so owe her an apology." The issue not quite avoided, Dean gently sat down on the bed next to his somewhat shaky kid brother, their shoulders almost touching. He knew he had to say something. Turning to Sam, now having to gaze up slightly at his much taller brother, he softened his voice. "You doin' okay man?"

Sam laughed nervously. Am I doing okay. I'm about as un-okay as I've been for a while. He wanted to say no, to collapse against his brother and cry for a week, cry until he had no more tears. But he knew he couldn't. It wasn't what Winchesters did. "I'm…. I'm getting there." He smiled back at Dean, a rogue, dry, tell tale sob heaving from his chest. "Just give me a minute."

"You want me to wait downstairs?" Dean stiffened a little, Sam clearly wanted some more time on his own.

"No!" Sam protested a little bit too quickly. "No," he calmed, slightly. "Not, not unless you want to."

"Dammit Sam!" Dean exclaimed. They were both too concerned with not wanting to seem to need each other, so pre-occupied with how Winchesters should behave. "I don't want to leave you here if you want me to stay." Dean startled himself with the gruff tone of his voice. He didn't mean to yell, but he couldn't help it. He continued, not really knowing whether he was mad at himself or his brother. "Hell, despite that fact that every bone in my body wants to run back down those stairs, get in the car, crank up the music and pretend it's not happening, it's only because it hurts me so freakin' much to see you go through this!" Dean softened his voice, knowing that he was being far too aggressive. "I know I'm not good at this, Sammy. But I 'm sorry. And I wanna help you. Really I do. I just don't know how to do it anymore."

A couple of stray tears had leaked their way down Sam's cheeks and he wiped at his face. He lifted his head to his brother, and suddenly, he saw Dean. _His_ Dean. The one who would come to him when he had nightmares, the one who made spaghetti-o's and got his milk. The one who told him it would be okay when he had to start a new school. The one who hero worshipped his Daddy and had suddenly lost the man who had been his rock. Sam suddenly saw that his Dean was still there. And he hurt too. Sam's chin began to quiver and he felt a lump rising in his throat that he was sure he had swallowed when his brother walked in the room. But he hadn't…. he couldn't…… don't fall apart again……

Dean anticipated his brother's crash moments before it happened, taking Sam's shoulders in his arms and grasping his large frame to his chest as a huge sob heaved its way out of his brother's lungs. He felt him shake and he hugged Sam tightly, clenching his fists defiantly behind his brother's back. He'd never felt so angry. Angry that Sam had to go through losing his girlfriend. Angry that Sam wouldn't get married and have children. Angry that the Moore's had lost their daughter. Angry about Dad. Angry with Dad. And just…… just….. so fucking angry. He felt Sam's shaking radiating through his body so that Dean began to shake too….. how dare something do this to his family, to his little brother, to his….. wait, hang on, was _he_ crying too? He patted Sam on the back, feeling his brother pull him closer towards him. He wanted to tell Sam that it would be okay, that everything would be fine, but he didn't know that. He didn't know that it would be fine. Something their kind of strange had gone on surrounding their Dad's death, and he didn't understand it. Hell, he didn't understand any of it and he couldn't tell Sammy that he was going to make it all okay. Because he didn't know how. He didn't know how to take away Sam's pain. And he didn't know how to start to fill up the huge black hole that had been growing inside him ever since they left the hospital.

The moment seemed to last an eternity, but then was over too soon when Sam pulled away. They gazed at each other for a brief second, weighing up one another's tear streaked cheeks with a small smile. Sam's nose continued to run and he sniffed loudly, reminding Dean of him being about seven years old again. Both men ran their hands over their faces and Sam offered Dean a small smile.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't!" He ran a hand through his hair and looked slowly at his brother, seeking some approval that Dean was okay with this, and feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Yeah, well……" Dean breathed out slowly. "I think…..I think we're allowed one or two chick flick moments. As long as nobody else has to know." He knew that there was no way they could get back down the stairs without the Moore family knowing that they'd both been sitting in a tearful heap. "Maybe we'd best get moving." They stood up, Sam stretching his shoulders to shake the feeling that he could sleep for about a week.

"Want me to drive, Samantha?" Dean held his hands up for Sam to throw the keys to the Impala back to him. Sam rolled his eyes and tossed the keys back to his brother. Yes, he wanted him to drive. He climbed into the passenger seat and rested his head against the window. The tears had made left him exhausted. As the car started, he watched as the house became smaller and smaller in the wing mirror, eventually vanishing. He wouldn't come back. He'd done what he needed to. He looked at his brother, his green eyes firmly on the road in front, not wanting to hark back to the moment earlier, in fact, pretending that his grief hadn't got the better of him and everything was back to normal.

"Hey Dean?"

"What. You okay now?" He raised his eyebrows at his brother.

"Thanks, man."

"What for? Loaning you my car? Cos you vanish again with my baby you know it's the last thing you'll ever – "

"No, for…. For coming to get me. For - you know."

"Yeah well. I'm not gonna make a habit of it." Sam was sure he saw his brother's mouth turn up slightly at the corners. He leaned forward slightly, clapping Sam on the knee as he put his foot down on the accelerator.

--RDG--RDG--RDG--

Carrie stayed in the doorway as she watched the large black car rumble out of sight. Somehow she knew that would be the last time she would come across Sam Winchester. She sensed that today had been his closure, knew that he had come to say his apologies to the family. She closed the door with a sigh, wondering that if, as he said, he hadn't left that weekend, he would be stepping back through that door so much more often. Leaning back against the door and closing her eyes, she knew that she'd finally come to the end of a long, long day.

"You okay honey?" Carrie opened her eyes to see her Mom leaving the living room. She looked tired.

"Yeah…. I'm okay Mom." She weakly smiled. "I didn't think he'd come". A small pang of guilt tugged at Carrie. "We should have made sure he was okay Mom. He's…. I don't think we'll see him again." She followed her Mom's gaze up to the top of the stairs. "If it's okay Mom, I'm gonna……." Carrie rolled her eyes towards the stairs.

"Sure. Sure honey. Don't stay up too late."

Walking into Jessica's bedroom, Carrie sank back on the bed, smoothing down the bedcovers where she could tell Sam and Dean had huddled earlier. Sam, or Dean she supposed, had moved Jess's photo of her and Sam, taken at a baseball game a couple of years ago. She smiled and went to move it back to where it should be. As she re-adjusted the photo frame, something caught her eye. Something small and bright. She opened her eyes fully and squinted at the small object. It looked like something metal. It is, she thought. It's - is it jewellery? She reached out. Yes, it's jewellery. A ring, to be precise. She didn't remember seeing it before. Maybe Mom had left it in here? She looked at the small band, white gold probably, with a single, but small diamond solitaire mounted in it, shining brightly in the moonlight. She frowned, her confusion evident. Somewhere in the distance she heard the far off rumble of a V8 engine, deep and passionate. Just like Sam.

And suddenly, Carrie understood. Carefully placing her sister's engagement ring back beside her bed, she gazed out of the window.

"She would have said yes, Sam…….."


End file.
